


Answers in the Darkness

by Telaryn



Series: The Hero and The Bad Boy [24]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Leverage, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Lost Love, Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Sacrifice, Secret Relationship, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 14:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Quinn finally compare notes and come up with the most impossible answer of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Answers in the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to take a moment to thank everybody that's ridden this bizarre little 'ship up until this point. Things are going to get pretty wild in the next couple of installments...I hope I've entertained you enough to date that you'll hang on with me until the end. <3333333

Clint hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Quinn until the ex-mercenary fumbled his way into the common room of Avengers Tower. Clint and Natasha were crowded together on the smaller of the two couches – the Black Widow had agreed to wait up with him, and was currently in her favorite position – head in his lap, legs kicked over the arm of the sofa, reading one of the two or three books left in Tony’s library that she hadn’t already devoured.

For his part, Hawkeye had been trying to find something to watch on television that didn’t require him to tap into Netflix, Hulu, or disturb Natasha in order to find a Blu Ray that wouldn’t put him to sleep.

“If there was even an inch more room on that sofa, I would so be joining you right now.”

Natasha rolled smoothly to her feet before Clint could accidentally dump her onto the floor. The archer scrambled up after her, every nerve in his body abruptly on point as he saw Quinn in the flesh for the first time in nearly a month. “You’re the one who wanted to hurry home,” he snarked, knowing his expression would soften any potential sting. “I was willing to come to you, remember?”

“Yeah, well…” Quinn managed, letting his suitcases fall to the carpet. Before either of them could move, Natasha yawned and walked between them. “I’m going to see if Bruce is still awake, before this gets embarrassing.” Rising up on the balls of her feet, she kissed Quinn lightly on the cheek. “Glad you’re home. He was starting to pine.”

“Really?” Quinn asked, once she’d left, his pale eyes alight with mischief. Clint started to protest, but then grinned and held up two fingers.

“Little bit,” he admitted. “I recover better when you’re around.” He’d meant it to be flip, but Quinn winced.

“You’re really okay?” he asked, closing the distance between them and taking Clint’s hand. Suddenly breathless with how much he wanted the man standing opposite him, Clint nodded.

“They didn’t even hold me for observation,” he finally managed, swallowing hard as Quinn leaned in and kissed him.

Whimpering low in his throat, Clint moved into Quinn’s embrace – threading his fingers into the ex-mercenary’s hair and pushing until the thin band he’d used to tie it back slid free. Quinn pressed into him, continuing the kiss until Clint was light-headed with the endorphin rush.

“I really want to take you upstairs and fuck you brainless,” Quinn murmured, once he finally let Clint up for air. With a small, frustrated sigh, he rested his forehead against Clint’s. “But we’ve got to talk.”

“You sure it can’t wait?” Clint asked, his fingers still playing in the strands of Quinn’s hair. “Because I like the idea of fucking each other brainless – I like it a whole lot.” Forty-five minutes of a hallucinated conversation with his dead handler; Clint had expected Quinn to react the same way the rest of his teammates had. No matter what weird little coincidences colored his experience, it all tied into the concussion he’d received when a large part of the building he’d been perched on blew up in his face.

“Somebody’s playing us.” It was what he’d said the night before when Clint had called him on his business trip to let him know what had happened. “We need to compare notes on what’s been happening these last six months or so – see if we can figure out who’s behind it and get ahead of them.”

Face to face, he was even more determined than he’d sounded on the phone. “All right,” Clint said, pulling free with considerable reluctance. “Let’s hash it over, see what falls out.” He started to head back to the couch he and Natasha had been using, but Quinn shook his head.

“Let’s go to the roof.”

The outdoor firing range on the roof of the tower had been a matter of some debate among the different Avengers planning on using it. Cap had been the most vocal opponent, pointing out that the risk to the public was unacceptably high. Tony and Clint had argued that the odds of either of them missing a shot so badly that it became a danger to innocent bystanders was so small as to be statistically negligible. 

It wasn’t until JARVIS was able to come up with a modified design for the range that employed safeguards no one had even conceived of yet that Steve dropped his objections and work on the range barreled ahead. It was by far and away Clint’s favorite place in the tower.

As soon as they were safely on the roof, reflex sent Clint to the rack where he kept his practice bows and quiver. Exhaling softly, he ran his hand over the equipment – fighting the urge to pick it up and lose himself in the repetition of draw and fire. _This is who you are._ No matter how crazy everything else got, he could always come back to this part of his life where everything made sense.

He flinched as Quinn came up behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder, leaning into the contact a moment later as his instincts reminded him “friend, not foe”. “If you want to take a few shots, go ahead.” Quinn said. “I don’t mind.”

Clint smiled, feeling a pleasant warmth steal through his body. “It’s okay,” he said, letting Quinn pull him back into an embrace. “We came up here to talk.”

“I’m never going to pass up the chance to watch you be a bad ass,” Quinn murmured, kissing the curve of muscle that sloped from Clint’s neck to his shoulder. “Missed you.”

“I don’t think they’ve got words to describe how much I agree with that statement,” Clint said, twisting around so that he could claim a proper kiss. “The missing you part.” Their eyes met; Quinn’s defenses were down, and Clint could see exactly how worried he was. “You know you didn’t have to race home,” he added, feeling a familiar surge of guilt. “I was just creeped out…it wasn’t that big a deal.”

The ex-mercenary sighed heavily, pulling free of their embrace. “Actually I did,” he said. Taking Clint’s hand, he led the archer over to the parapet that bordered the roof. When they were both settled on the low wall with the city spread below them, he continued, “I think a lot more’s been going on these past several months than either of us has realized.”

Clint’s stomach did a slow, queasy roll as he began to realize what Quinn was getting at. “You don’t think it was the concussion. You don’t think I hallucinated everything that happened.”

Pressing his lips together, Quinn shook his head. “No, I don’t. I think you’re right – reprogramming that communicator would have been beyond your skills under those conditions. You would remember something, or have some awareness that you’d done something while you were out of it.”

“So how did it end up on _that_ frequency? That was Coulson’s and my private frequency Quinn – nobody else knew about it!”

Quinn’s expression became shrewd, calculating. “Do you really think Fury didn’t know?”

Clint started to answer, and then stopped himself. Quinn didn’t trust the SHIELD Director, and Clint couldn’t honestly say he was wrong to feel that way – but what he was suggesting was beyond anything Clint had been willing to allow himself to think his former employers were capable of.

“All I’m saying is that those units are remotely programmable,” Quinn suggested. “And Fury’s been willing to tempt you before.”

It made perfect sense as Clint rolled it over in his mind, except for some crucial bits of information that Quinn wouldn’t have. “He didn’t know,” the archer said finally. “About Coulson and me.”

Quinn was clearly confused by the revelation. “I thought you said that he mentioned it the day you quit?”

_”Do you think Phil Coulson would approve of the choices you’ve been making?”_

“He was referring to the fact that we’d been friendly, closer than handlers and assets tend to get. I know Phil worried about me, but he never would have let anyone suspect there was something more going on.” Clint paused, his heart suddenly aching with too much emotion. “Or the potential for something more,” he forced himself to say.

“Somebody else knows,” Quinn said.

Before he could elaborate, Clint said, “You don’t understand. The idea of us pursuing any kind of a relationship was going to take a lot of planning and discussion. He wasn’t even sure we’d be able to do it under the regulations. It wasn’t the kind of thing he would casually discuss with anyone, and especially not Fury.” Memory was crowding close now; he’d been shipped out with the scientists shortly after the Destroyer’s attack on Puente Antiguo – tasked with making sure they arrived at SHIELD headquarters safely. Coulson hadn’t even left New Mexico when Fury assigned him to be Erik Selvig’s personal bodyguard.

 _After that…_ “There just wasn’t enough time between New Mexico and everything unraveling with Loki for that kind of a conversation.”

“You remember that SHIELD agent who saved my life in Tennessee? The one who worked with you in Syria?”

Clint shuddered, knowing he would never forget that night. They’d been doing a favor for Pepper, making sure Tony was okay – not expecting to run into enemy agents with super-powers in a nothing little town in backwoods Tennessee. Quinn had caught the worst of it; if it hadn’t been for a SHIELD agent who happened to be on site conducting an off-the-book surveillance, both of them knew he wouldn’t have survived.

“I, uh…” Clint’s chest tightened as he realized the look on his lover’s face was guilt. “He was in London last night,” Quinn went on, clearly forcing himself to continue. “Invited me to dinner – in fact, that’s where we were when you called.”

Clint waited for a moment to see if any more information was forthcoming then said, “Just dinner, right?”

Quinn ducked his head, looking adorably sheepish despite the seriousness of the situation. “We also ran into each other last month at the mall. It was your birthday – that’s where my head was at – so I pretty much blew him off and didn’t think about it again until he called yesterday about dinner.” He sighed, sobering again. “Clint, he knows about you and Coulson.”

“Gossip,” Clint countered, instinct pushing him to rationalize away the information.

Slowly, deliberately, Quinn shook his head. “I don’t think he was speculating at all.”  
***********  
They were missing something – something crucial. Quinn could see Clint looking for it, sifting what data they had on hand through different filters in his mind to try and come up with the answer. “What did you say his name was?” he asked Quinn at last.

Quinn opened his mouth to answer, and was horrified to suddenly realize that he couldn’t. “You’ve seen him twice now since Tennessee,” Clint said, clearly amazed at Quinn’s reaction. “You had dinner with the man, and never found out his name?”

Frantic now, Quinn searched his memory and found…nothing. “It never came up,” he protested. “How could it have never come up?” _You were played._ He literally couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so stupid.

“All right,” Clint said, pushing to his feet and beginning to pace. “You said he was older. Older than you?”

Still somewhat numb, Quinn nodded. “Late forties – maybe even into his fifties?”

“That would mean he would have been around forty when we were in Syria.” The archer froze, his gray-green eyes widening. “That’s insane.”

Quinn’s pulse was racing now as he sensed what Clint was about to say. “It’s too old for a field agent.”

Clint nodded. “I thought at first you would have met one of the techs that came in after everything went to shit, but I checked after we got back from Tennessee – none of them were in the right age range either.”

“Clint…”

Clint’s answering laugh was brittle, an edge of madness creeping into his expression. “Oh trust me – I know. I know what it sounds like, but Quinn I swear – if you’ve got another explanation I’m more than willing to hear it.”

 _You can settle this._ He couldn’t breathe. He’d taken the photo of his stalker expecting Clint would be able to identify him, would be able to connect him somehow with whatever game Nick Fury was playing. What Clint was suggesting now meant that nothing good was going to come out of what Quinn was about to do. “Clint,” he repeated – his voice low and serious. Pushing to his feet once he had the archer’s attention, he reached into his pocket.

“I really hope I’m doing the right thing showing you this.” Sighing heavily, Quinn pulled out his phone, called up the picture he’d taken in London, and passed the handset over.  
*********************  
Clint realized with a small jolt of surprise that his hand was trembling as he took Quinn’s phone and turned it over to see what was on the screen. “Where did you take this?” he breathed, as the bottom finally and irrevocably dropped out of his world. _This can’t be happening. This is not possible._

“I told you,” Quinn said, “He invited me to dinner last night. I left the table when you called, and on the way back it just seemed important to have some kind of record of him.” He paused. “It’s him, isn’t it? Coulson.”

Still unable to process the reality of what he was seeing, Clint forced himself to look up and meet Quinn’s gaze. “Him or some kind of clone.”

The ex-mercenary snorted, but there was a shaky edge to it. “Have I mentioned how much I love that in your world ‘clone’ is even a reasonable option for this discussion?” He paused. “Is there any way for us to check?”

 _Lifesize Decoy Model_ It was one of Tony’s favorite jokes, but like a lot of Stark’s humor it could be at least marginally grounded in truth. “JARVIS is my first thought,” he said at last, trying to keep his thoughts from entirely running away with him. Clint knew he couldn’t afford to get his hopes up – not about this. He wouldn’t survive having to face the truth. “Beyond that I would have to go to Fury, and I really don’t…what is it?”

Quinn’s face had definitely reddened this time, and Clint was almost positive it was embarrassment. “You’re going to have to be the one to approach JARVIS,” he admitted finally. “I, um, overplayed my hand a bit in London where JARVIS was concerned and Tony’s promised some pretty epic payback.”

Clint gaped at his lover for a long moment, before deciding he didn’t want to know details. “JARVIS?” he asked, raising his voice. “Where is Tony?”

There was a moment of silence, wherein Hawkeye wondered if Quinn really had managed to somehow piss Tony and his creation off. Then the familiar clipped British tones filled the air around them. “Sir is in his workshop,” JARVIS dutifully reported. “He requests that you gentlemen join him and make any requests you may have ‘directly to his face’.”  
*************  
Even though he considered Clint and Quinn family, and cared about them a great deal – in the privacy of his own head Tony Stark enjoyed the hell out of the power he wielded over one Jonah Quinn. “The man used to have ‘badass’ on his business card,” he’d argued when Pepper had finally called him on his behavior. “Who wouldn’t enjoy getting to boss somebody like that around?”

Quinn had overstepped his authority on his last trip to London, however. Tony was grateful to his head of international security for getting him out of what could have been a nasty run in with some extremely talented vigilantes bent on righting the world’s wrongs, but Quinn had called directly on JARVIS for help without clearing it with Tony and he’d acted as though he’d had every right to do so.

It didn’t matter in the end that his intentions were good – it set a bad precedence. And while Tony hadn’t determined exactly what form his “epic payback” was going to take, he intended to enjoy watching Quinn squirm as long as possible.

“All right boys,” he said, starting to turn in his chair as JARVIS showed him that Clint and Quinn were at the open door to his workshop, “what can we do for you?”

He sobered immediately – their expressions were enough to tell him that whatever had brought them to his sanctuary was very, very bad. Before he could get to his feet or fire enough synapses to begin to ask the necessary questions, Clint closed the distance separating them and shoved a cell phone at him. “Find him, Tony. Please. I don’t care what it takes – you and JARVIS are the only ones that can tell me what’s going on.”

Mouth still hanging slightly open, Tony glanced down at the phone in his hand – realizing as he pressed the button to bring it out of sleep mode that it was _Quinn’s_ phone, not Clint’s. Then he saw the picture, saw _who_ Clint wanted him to find, and the world upended itself. _How?_

Glancing up at the two men, his gaze automatically sought Quinn’s. “Please Tony,” the ex-mercenary said, echoing Clint’s request. “Whatever it takes.”

He nodded shakily, turning and falling back into his seat. _Coulson…alive?_ “All right JARVIS,” he managed, fingers dancing over a virtual keyboard, “let’s show our guests a little magic.” He connected Quinn’s phone to the AI’s central processor, set the parameters for a search, and set his creation loose. “It’s probably going to take a bit,” he said, spinning around to face Clint and Quinn. “You know the old saying about doing the impossible taking a bit longer.” 

Tony paused, finally registering the emotional state of both men. Clint was hunched in on himself, arms hugged tightly across his chest. Quinn had a hand on his shoulder; it was obvious that he wanted to draw the other man in close, but Tony remembered hearing that one of the lingering effects of Clint’s PTSD was that during emotionally charged times he had problems with anything his hind brain could interpret as being restrained. “There’s soda and beer in the fridge,” he said gently, directing the remark to Quinn. “Harder stuff’s at the bar in back.” He glanced meaningfully at the battered sofa nearby, hoping that Quinn would pick up on the suggestion.

He did – whispering too low for Tony to hear, Quinn urged the archer towards the sofa. Once Clint was settled, Quinn headed for the refrigerator. _He’s shutting down,_ Tony realized, watching his teammate. He’d never really learned the whole story of what might or might not have been going on between Hawkeye and ‘Agent’ Coulson – but what he had picked up since Coulson’s death was enough to understand something of what Barton had to be going through. “Don’t you worry,” he said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. “Whatever’s going on here, we’ll figure it out.”

Clint’s eyes met his. “Thanks, Tony.”  
***********************  
Sleep came easier than Clint would have expected under the circumstances, and was surprisingly dreamless. He hadn’t particularly wanted the beer Quinn brought him – too many ghosts crowding much too close – but both Quinn and Tony had encouraged him to drink it. “You need to be a little numb,” Tony said. “No matter what JARVIS finds – I think we all know nothing good is coming out of this.”

It was only saying what Clint – and he suspected Quinn as well – had already concluded for themselves. _That’s what he does though,_ Clint thought as he dutifully downed the cold micro-brew. Stark was their truth-teller, no matter how harsh or ugly that truth was, and as the promised numbness began to steal over him Clint realized that he was bone-tired of people who were supposed to have had his best interests at heart lying to him.

He woke with a start when Quinn nudged him. “They’ve got him,” were the first words he said, his pale eyes full of emotion, “along with enough evidence to prove that it’s him and not some kind of clone.” He swallowed, and Clint felt his heart twist in his chest as he watched his lover try to look pleased about how things had turned out. “He’s really alive.”

Stunned, feeling his world unravel around him, Clint twisted around to look at Tony. After Clint and Natasha, he knew that Stark had taken Phil’s death hardest of all of them. Like most of the authority figures in his life, he’d had a weirdly antagonistic relationship with Coulson, so his reaction had surprised more than a few people.

 _”He needs me,”_ had been how Coulson had finally explained the relationship to Clint. _”He’s a lot like you in that regard – he needs somebody in his life he can push against who won’t push back unless absolutely necessary._

“He was apparently in a coma for eight months after the attack,” Tony said quietly; Clint had never seen the man so overwhelmed. “Which means that the two of you were already involved by the time they were sure he was going to live. The rehab looks like it’s been long and ugly, complicated by a heart attack a few months ago after a high priority surveillance operation in Tennessee.” Clint felt Quinn draw breath to explain, but Tony shook his head. “I don’t want to know details. Not right now.”

 _Heart attack._ The stress of saving Quinn’s life had risked his own and Coulson had never hesitated. Clint shivered, and Quinn’s arms tightened around him briefly. _What am I supposed to do with this?_

“He’s on light duty now, but still spending his nights in a top secret ward of the medical wing at SHIELD HQ.” Tony sighed. “The date he went active is right after your little concussion-induced hallucination, Clint, so I guess we owe you an apology.”

Clint distractedly brushed aside the attempt, pulling free of Quinn’s embrace as he sat up straighter on the couch. “What time is it?”

“Nearly six a.m.,” Quinn said, inching forward until they were sitting side by side. He lightly bumped their shoulders together. “What do you want to do?”

Clint realized in a rush that whatever else happened, he needed to see Phil face to face – prove to himself that this wasn’t some kind of sick joke. _Or any more of one than it already is._ “We need to go,” he said, pushing to his feet. “We need to hear what he has to say about all this.”

He felt Quinn get up as well, and moved a half-dozen steps towards the door before he realized that the ex-mercenary _wasn’t_ following in his wake. “Shit,” he breathed, hanging his head and counting to ten before turning back. “You’re not coming, are you?”

Looking like his own world was coming to an end, Quinn shook his head. “You need answers. You deserve them. And you don’t need me there confusing things.”

“Quinn…please…” His vision blurred; Clint dashed angrily at the tears in his eyes with the back of one hand. “I need you. I can’t…” His arms literally ached with the need to go to Quinn, hold him, find a way to reassure them both that nothing was going to change in the next few hours even if it ultimately turned out to be a lie.

After several painfully tense moments, Quinn’s expression softened. “C’mere.” He held out an arm, and Clint immediately went to him. The two men embraced, and Hawkeye could feel Quinn’s fear in the almost desperate tightness of his arms. “I can’t do this for you,” he whispered, pulling Clint in as close as he could. “I won’t.” He paused, and Clint imagined he could feel the other man’s heartbeat against his own chest. “Just promise me you’ll put yourself first. Whatever you decide – make sure it’s what you really want.”

 _He’s giving up._ “Don’t leave me,” Clint murmured, tightening his own grip. “Please. You’ve already been so patient with my crap, and I know I don’t have the right to ask…”

Quinn did pull back then, ducking his head to catch Clint’s gaze. “Shhh.” Leaning in, he kissed him – a soft brush of lips that made Clint shiver with need. “I promise I’ll wait until you’ve made your decision.” He kissed him again, and then pressed his forehead to Clint’s with a small sigh. “I do need you to go now though, before I embarrass myself.”  
**********************  
He managed to stay on his feet until Clint disappeared upstairs, but the second the archer was out of view, Quinn sank back onto the sofa and buried his face in his hands with a soft whimper. _I’m such an idiot._ They’d battled so much to be together that he’d stopped considering the possibility that he could lose the best thing that had ever happened to him without a fight.

“Cap should have seen that,” Tony said, his voice intruding on Quinn’s rising grief and panic. “That was either the most idiotic or one of the most noble things I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

“I should leave,” Quinn said, looking up and meeting his boss’s gaze. “I should just get it over with – he’s going to tear himself apart trying to figure out a way nobody gets hurt here and it can’t happen.”

Stark’s expression was as serious as Quinn had ever seen. “Is that what _you_ want?”

His answering laugh was sharp and bitter, like he’d swallowed a mouthful of broken glass. “I couldn’t win against this guy when he really was a ghost. I don’t stand a chance now that he’s back among the living. Maybe I’m missing something, but I don’t see where what I want plays into this mess at all.”


End file.
